


war of hearts

by elliptical



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Humor, F/M, Fantasy Politics, Fluff, M/M, Mostly humor, Multi, Polyamory, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9476579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliptical/pseuds/elliptical
Summary: A young king rules with the help of an irritable psychic's daughter, a guard dog with secrets, an extremely bitter pardoned criminal magician, and a poltergeist.Things go about as well as you would expect.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a quick oneshot for my girlfriends and it's turned into [wide hand gestures] this  
> here goes my first foray into the raven cycle fandom!

No one can fault Blue Sargent for the way she meets the king. It’s technically the king’s fault for going out among the common people acting like some faceless noble - an idiotic faceless noble, at that. He’s wearing none of the finery or markings that would single him out as royalty. He has no visible guards with him. He’s walking on two feet rather than carried around by servants. Really, he’s trying to appear like a commoner rather than a noble, but the straight-backed chin-high way he carries himself gives him away.

He stops in front of Blue’s stall, flashes her the most dazzling smile, and says, “How much do you sell your vegetables for?” He says it in a way that sounds like he’s asking something else, even though he most reasonably is referring to the array of produce artfully arranged in front of her.

Blue eyes him with appropriate wariness, though the sensible part of her wonders how much she can sucker this pretend common boy out of. “How much are you offering?”

“Well.” He shoots a helpless look at the boy standing beside him - Blue only now realizes they’re together, because said boy is doing a much better job looking rugged and common - and says, “They look very… clean. For things that come from the ground.”

“We wash them.”

“Do you? I didn’t know the novelties of washing produce had trickled down to the populace.”

The wariness becomes hostility in the blink of an eye, so quick and sharp Blue can’t fathom how it had ever been anything less. “I can’t imagine how hard it is venturing out among us sad savages,” she says. “Such a difficult excursion. You ought to go back where you came from.”

He blinks. “What?”

She points in the general direction of the rest of the market. It's dusty, flooded with both buyers and sellers, easy to disappear into. Plenty of other people are selling vegetables that are _authentically dirty._ He can get a very authentic stomachache. “Goodbye. Fuck off. And all the other things people say to end an interaction.”

The boy with the king (who Blue still thinks is an obnoxious noble on holiday, rather than _The King_ ), starts to laugh. It’s a silent affair, but his whole body shakes with it. The king, meanwhile, just looks perplexed. “How have I offended you?”

“ _Goodbye,_ ” Blue says, and he goes.

\---

She gives no more thought to the affair until she’s presented to him for her coming-of-age ceremony.

Blue, for all her performed toiling as a poor commoner, comes from an unusual lineage. Setting up her vegetable cart in the market and discussing the health benefits of her produce with passersby and considering the agricultural merits of the impending rain versus sunshine is all well and good, but it might make her as big a pretender as the king himself. She is poor, and growing things is a skill she’s proud of. Those are immutable facts. But the family with which she’s laid her roots is ancient and well known to the royal family. They don’t belong to the royals, on account of belonging to no one and truly owning nothing themselves, but the royal family has always expressed a certain amount of entitlement toward them, and it’s convenient to have the ruling class on your side rather than brandishing your heads on pikes, so here she is. Blue Sargent. Psychic’s daughter. Useless on account of having no psychic powers herself, but worth proclaiming anyway. Traditions and all.

She expects the king to be young, because she knows he is young. This much doesn’t escape the populace. Their current king is seventeen years old, wading in politics because his father is off settling some border dispute or other and his mother is with him. The kingdom itself tends to be peaceful enough that handing the reins of the entire fucking government to a boy barely old enough to shave seems like a fair choice. Blue has some vehement private opinions about this, and about the government in general. She is considering getting into an animated discussion with the king about said opinions, except then she actually meets him, and he’s wearing the face of The Noble Asshole.

Her breath rushes out all at once. Sitting on his throne, straight-backed and impassive, he looks as kingly as she’d expect from the royal family. He does not look like a seventeen year old boy playing at politics. He looks like an immovable statue who could order her decapitation over tea. She considers this in the breath between when her name is announced and when his eyes land on her. If she wasn’t looking for it, she wouldn’t even notice the uncertainty that flickers over his face - but she is, so she does.

In his throne, he’s not at all the pretend commoner she interacted with, but there’s no way they aren’t the same person. She curtsies, trips, rights herself, and prays that he somehow doesn’t recognize her.

“Blue Sargent,” he says.

She says, “Your Majesty.”

“That’s a very pretty dress.” He does not sound sarcastic, but he doesn’t sound particularly sincere either - pre-scripted compliments meant to make an interaction go more smoothly.

“Thank you,” Blue says. “I made it myself.” She’d fashioned it out of old strips of burlap with a scattering of wheat stalks turned into a fringe around the hem, as a protest. The entire affair had taken much more time and energy than simply buying a faded secondhand dress would have, but it’s the principle of the thing.

She’s bored with the exchange already. All imagined conversations seem frivolous and fruitless now, faced with this king she’s already met by accident. If he intended her harm, he could have harmed her in the marketplace. He could have lowered his royal facade when he met her eyes rather than offering cool politeness. But he’s not going to, and this palace is not a place for her. It’s too full of stone and emptiness, not nearly enough trees.

She doesn’t _need_ to stay - she doesn’t need to do more than go through the motions of having curtsied. See, this is the king; see, this is the psychic’s daughter. See, you lived in the shadow of this palace your whole life and now you know who lives inside; see, she’s eccentric but functionally useless and your family can go on leaving us well enough alone.

Blue turns to go.

Maura opens her mouth, catches the look on Blue’s face, closes it, and nods. They spare no time for small talk or saccharine pleasantries. The pair of them are all the way outside the castle and trailing through the courtyard garden when a voice calls, “Blue!”

Blue turns. King Richard Gansey III is following her out, looking distinctly unkingly on account of being red in the face and panting. Obviously he’s been running. It is a little bit endearing that he felt the need to run after her rather than send someone else to bring her back, at least assuming he’s not intending to kill her. The same boy from the market follows behind him - he was standing beside the throne, but Blue hadn’t placed his face, since he looks different in proper armor.

She should say, “Yes, Your Majesty?” Instead she gives a vague nod in his direction.

He visibly composes himself, walks over with practiced regality. The guard boy’s mouth twitches as he attempts to smother a grin.

“You didn’t know who I was,” the king says. “When we met earlier.”

Maura says, “You _met?_ ”

Blue shrugs. “I didn’t know who you were,” she confirms.

“Would our meeting have - gone the same way, had you known?”

Had she known he was a king playing at common life rather than just a noble? She doesn’t even need half a second to consider it. “Yes, I think so.”

The king nods. Blue assumes he's weighing the pros versus cons of tossing her in prison - having an ancient family of psychics suddenly sided against the crown, but also having salvaged his pride. Worth it? It must be a terribly taxing debate.

But then he says, “Would you like a job?”

Blue says, “What.”


End file.
